More Than Enough
by greenschist
Summary: During a raid, Lucius sees that there is something dangerous stirring within Regulus, something that will take him forever out of reach. Lucius/Regulus. Mild warnings for off-screen DE brutality, a dash of adultery, and mention of an underage relationship.


Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's sandbox. I'm just happy to play here.

Written for the Fanfic Dominoes Challenge at the HPFC forum. Soft warnings for "off-screen" torture and mention of a relationship that began when Regulus was underage.

A.N.: 1979, shortly before Regulus's death.

* * *

Lucius slipped from the Muggle barn out into the night air. He breathed deep, appreciating the difference between the cold, fresh breezes outside and the fetid stench within. He squinted up the hill toward the crofter's cottage, empty and illuminated only by the moon. Although he had never lowered himself to step inside a Muggle's dwelling, he imagined it would be very like their barn: filthy and reeking of unwashed animals. His lips twisted into an ironic smile. Of course, the barn now smelled like blood, so perhaps the cottage would improve by comparison.

He flicked his wand, sliding the wooden door closed and cutting off the sound of Travers and Carrow's excited cackling. No doubt they had thought up some new entertainment involving their Muggle "hosts," but Lucius had no desire to return and watch. Frankly, he thought it would take more than a _Rennervate_ to revive the crofter's wife—widow—at this point, and he had lost what interest he had in the daughters when their screams changed to broken whimpers.

He shook his head over the sounds that managed to escape the barn. _Anything more than enough is too much,_ he thought in mild disgust.

He moved a few paces farther away from the door. "Regulus?" he called softly.

For a moment, he heard nothing but the rustle of the wind in the grass and a muffled shriek from the barn, but finally: "Here."

Turning his head in the direction of the voice, Lucius spotted Regulus in the shadow of another outbuilding: black-on-black, trying to melt into the dark, close enough to his fellow Death Eaters that he couldn't be accused of running away, far enough that his lack of involvement couldn't be more obvious. _The pride of the Blacks, reduced to sitting on an overturned crate beside a Muggle's henhouse._ Disappointed, Lucius bit back a sigh and strode toward him.

As his eyes continued to adjust, he could better see the glimmer of ambient light on Regulus's black hair and how his face was paler than the moon in the dark. Lucius reached his side and waited, expectant, but Regulus continued to stare at the Mask in his lap and say nothing. He sighed again and touched the younger man's hair, running his fingers through silky strands. He was rewarded when Regulus took a shuddering breath and then lowered his chin to his chest, inviting Lucius to stroke his way down his neck. Lucius accepted, massaging the base of Regulus's skull before cupping the back of his neck and rubbing gently.

"Is it over?" Nothing could hide the waver in Regulus's voice, and Lucius was glad that no one else was within earshot.

"Almost."

He started over, running his fingers through black hair, scraping the scalp with his nails, finishing by gently massaging the tension out of Regulus's neck and shoulders. Over and over, he moved his hands over the younger man, until he finally slumped against his side and turned his face so he could rest his forehead at Lucius's waist.

"I just couldn't stay there, Lucius." He heard the apology in Regulus's voice and a plea for understanding. "I…I just—" He broke off, and Lucius was grateful. Excuses were not to be tolerated, not by the Dark Lord, not by anyone.

"You're a man now," he murmured, continuing to soothe Regulus with his touch. "Do you remember when we first came to know each other? How your mother and aunt would send you to act as chaperone when I came to court Narcissa, never realizing you and I soon wanted to see each other just as much. You were so passionate and full of questions; you couldn't wait to grow up and contribute to our cause."

His hands tightened in Regulus's hair. "And now here you are. Grown, graduated, and the only acknowledged heir of your line. And you are a Death Eater, just as you dreamed." Regulus froze and slowly breathed out, but Lucius felt it: a tiny shake of the head, a negation. It was a denial that would get Regulus killed if anyone else witnessed it.

"You _are."_ He grasped Regulus by the shoulders and pulled him back until he could look see his face, a pale blur in the shadows. "You don't have to enjoy the raids, not everyone does, and they can be—" he paused and glanced back at the barn, still glowing with a hellish light "—distasteful." Regulus let out a muffled sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and Lucius shook him lightly. "But consider that this raid was quite possibly a test of your strength, and if so, you failed." He kissed Regulus's forehead to take the sting out of his words, but he felt the new tension that coiled his frame as the message sank in.

"So our Lord is displeased with me?" Regulus's eyes searched for his, but Lucius thought it was probably better that darkness concealed them, both from the rest of their party and from each other.

"He was pleased that you gave him the use of your house elf." He paused when Regulus flinched. "But your lack of enthusiasm since has been…noticed."

Regulus pulled back and turned back toward the barn. "Kreacher didn't come home," he said, his voice flat and calm as a bottomless lake.

"So what, if it serves the Dark Lord's purpose? He was just an elf. Let it go."

The younger man's hands closed convulsively around the Mask still in his lap. "Right."

They remained where they were for a moment, Regulus on his crate watching the barn, and Lucius watching Regulus. Even when the barn clattered open and Carrow and Travers staggered out, still laughing, they kept their poses. Carrow wore something white draped around his neck, and Lucius recognized it as the bra the younger daughter had been wearing. He felt his lip curling. _So crude._

They watched from the shadows as their companions Disapparated. Only the Lestranges, Lucius knew, remained in the barn. "If the Muggles are still alive, Rodolphus and Rabastan will finish them off." He put his arm over Regulus's shoulders. "Then you will cast the Mark, as our Lord commands, and you can go home." He leaned closer and let his lips brush Regulus's ear. "Or come to the Manor with me. It's been too long, and Narcissa has all but cast me from my own bed since conceiving."

Regulus shrugged out from under his arm and bounded to his feet. "How does any of this 'serve the Dark Lord's purpose'? How does it make the world better for our kind to do that?" He jabs a rigid finger toward the barn. "It's madness! _He's_ mad! His real purpose serves only himself, and he's doing horrible thi—"

" _Be quiet_!" Lucius thundered, louder than he intended, and they both glanced at the barn before facing each other again. He rose to his own feet. "That's blasphemy. This is your weakness talking, Black."

Regulus stepped from shadow into moonlight, and Lucius could see anguish carving deep lines in his face, too deep for a seventeen year old. He watched as the younger man hugged his robes around himself like a blanket. "For once, no, _Malfoy,_ it's not _._ It's clarity."

They looked into each other's eyes, and Lucius knew he was right to have praised the darkness. By moonlight, he could see things he didn't want to see rising up in Regulus: despair, anger, and a strange determination. A determination to do _what_ , Lucius couldn't say. How much simpler it had been in the past, back when Regulus was easy to impress, easy to seduce, easy to understand. He wished he could pull Regulus into his arms and remind him of the time when he longed for nothing more than Lucius and for a chance to serve the Dark Lord.

They were both too vulnerable, in the bright moonlight, to take such a chance.

"You don't have to be the best among us," he said, finally. "Just…do enough." He swallowed. This felt like its own form of blasphemy. "Do enough to avoid scrutiny."

Regulus backed up a step, moving farther out of reach. "Enough would be too much," he muttered, turning away, and Lucius knew he would never turn back.


End file.
